In a previous post, I mentioned that I tend to revise drastically.  An example, this is the first draft of  first page of Chapter 1 of my mystery novel in progress:

<!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:Cambria; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; text-indent:.5in; line-height:200%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} </style><span style="font-size: small;">  </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">The wiener dog growled at the footsteps on the stairs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">  </span>Two men by the sound of them, one wearing taps. “Jesus H. Christ,” I said when they reached the bottom, “you fellers sure are quick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">  </span>Agnes Flehardy just left.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">“I don’t know to what you are referring,” the tall one said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">  </span>He was all Adam’s apple, elbows and the brash arrogance of youth.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">“You’re government men,” I said.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">“How so?” said the short, broad one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">  </span>He looked the type that went into bars looking for fights. I’d done it myself.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">“Florsheims, fedoras, grey flannel and packing heat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">  </span>You’re either G-men or gangsters, and there ain’t no reason for gangsters to be sneaking around God’s country.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">“I’m Ivy,” the short one said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">  </span>His suit was something from a mail order catalog. “This is Slocum.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">  </span>We’re with the FBI.” He flashed his identification card.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">I glanced at the card. “Sheriff Matthew Harkness at your service. You’ve come regarding the flying saucers,”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">“Flying saucers?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">  </span>Slocum put his hands in his pockets. Better suit, tailored.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">  </span>East coast money, I figured.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">“I’ve had half a dozen reports of lights in the sky over Grizzly Mountain. Folks think we’re about to be invaded by aliens.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Not bad, but not what I was seeking.  Here's my next pass:</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><style><!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:Cambria; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; text-indent:.5in; line-height:200%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} </style></div><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">Blood dripped from the maw of the log grinder. Bits of viscera hung to the blades. “Ollie,” I said, “go back to college so you won’t have to deal with this shit for the rest of your life.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">It wasn’t as if I hated lumber mills. I’d worked in this one after the War, pulling green chain, sorting finished lumber; brutal work, sweltering in summer, freezing in winter; choking on the sawdust that plugged my pores, settled into my clothes; after a shift, all I could smell was the dust.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">The dust, the heat and the hard work were tolerable, but I couldn’t stand the noise; the screaming whine of the head saw biting into fresh logs. A scream you heard miles away. Always there, hammering at me, a presence more than a sound, it vibrated down into the soul, pushing up dark voices, pushing me into madness. I still worried about the madness.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">The mill was quiet now; just me, a young mill jock named Ollie Binam and some poor sod that had gone through the grinder. Only bits of flesh and chunks of bone remained. Whoever this had been, we’d have to pack him back to the morgue in buckets.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">My knees cracked as I stood up. “Run me through how you discovered the body,” I said to Ollie.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><style><!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:Cambria; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; text-indent:.5in; line-height:100%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} </style></div><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Chapter One is preceded by a prologue which I've completed but won't post here. ( A writer has to have his secrets). My first pass spoke to elements of the plot, but the second attempt speaks to the inciting incident, the murder. When I was plotting the book out in my head, I figured that the discovery of the body would be at the end of Chapter 1 or the beginning of Chapter 2, but I  realized that the murder would be the compelling force for Harkness, my protagonist. The lights in the sky and the FBI are important, but since the story is from Harkness' POV, I have to go with what drives him.</span></span>